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by kimlea94



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester is John's Good Little Soldier, Frantic Sam Winchester, Guilty Sam Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Other, Parental Bobby Singer, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Quote: Family Don't End With Blood (Supernatural), SPN Catchphrases, Sick Dean Winchester, Tired Dean Winchester, Watch out for Sammy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 01:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimlea94/pseuds/kimlea94
Summary: This is just a little story I wrote in honor of Dean’s 40th birthday (January 24, 2019). I know I’m a week late but who cares? Happy Birthday Dean! Have yourself some pie.The story takes place before 4.11 (before Dean finally confesses to Sam what his first time in Hell did to him), and could be considered AU (I think). It’s also basically a plotless excuse to make Dean suffer–and Sam care, exploring Dean’s self-esteem issues (to which I can relate all too well), as well as Sam’s guilt. Warning: Steer clear if these things trigger you.Disclaimer: Supernatural and its wonderful characters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Brothers, and the CW. They’re not mine, nor will they ever be. I don’t get money for this either.





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**Author's Note:**

> It’s my very first Supernatural story. Reviews are warmly welcome and much appreciated. I’m relatively new to the SPN Family, so please be kind to me. I’m still not satisfied with the ending, but I’m afraid that spending one more minute on it might drive me insane. ;)
> 
> If anyone is interested, I tried to include 40 lines or catchphrases from the show, some of which are better known than others. Besides, they sometimes consist of more than one sentence. To shake things up a bit, they’re not always delivered by the characters that originally said them, however. Can you spot them? :D
> 
> If the story feels rushed or artificial, it could be because I wanted to cram all of them in it. It was harder than I imagined, but so much fun. :D
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Should you find any please feel free to share them with me in a respectful way. And yes, I treat the Impala like a person, hence the capital letters. Please bear in mind that his story wasn’t beta-read, and English is not my native language.
> 
> Enjoy!

_I’m going to end it once and for all. Don’t try to stop me._

_Take good care of my Baby._

_Dean_

 

Trying to wrap his head around the hastily scribbled words, Sam’s hands trembled. Although the pop culture reference, his brother’s feeble attempt to lighten his mood, didn’t escape him, it didn’t elicit so much as a weary smile in Sam because he could see right through it, saw the note for what it truly was. A sigh escaped his lips. _Why do you have to downplay everything?_

Sam had his own assumptions as to why Dean acted like a freaking martyr, and his hope of being wrong faded with each day he witnessed his brother drown himself in way too much alcohol. He knew him better than anyone. As much as this complicated their already messed up lives, Sam was well aware that he didn’t have much else to go on at the moment. If he wanted to help Dean, who was a pro at covering his tracks, it was his only shot. Taking a deep breath, Sam took the Impala’s keys, headed out of the motel. _I should’ve known. Dean taking off without his precious Baby is never a good sign._

On the other hand, it meant that he couldn’t be far. Dean wouldn’t go through the effort of stealing a car just to talk to an angel. They had to keep a low profile after all. He recalled him mentioning a warehouse he wanted to “take a look at,” and when Sam asked further questions, his brother changed the subject. So, Sam figured he must be meeting Cas there. There were only three or four in the area, two of which could be ruled out since were new and guarded. Sam decided to drive into the direction of the old warehouse at the crossroads near the woods. What was it with angels and abandoned warehouses? And anyway, Cas was a bit melodramatic in Sam’s opinion. He could’ve just stopped by at the motel. Unless…

 _Oh no_. Sam felt his stomach drop. It was no secret that Dean would throw himself right in front of danger, even if all odds were against him and the chances of making it out alive were slim to none. This time, however, his actions couldn’t be called brave anymore, nor did they simply border on recklessness. They were plain suicidal.

“Dammit, Dean!” Cursing under his breath, he stepped harder on the gas pedal. “Your stupid hero complex is gonna be the death of you!” Every minute he spent in the car was pure agony. How could he have missed this when it was staring right in his face? A warehouse at the crossroads. He laughed mirthlessly.

When he finally arrived after what seemed like hours, there was no demon, and he couldn’t find any evidence for a summoning ritual. No sign of Dean, either. He looked around until his gaze fell upon the backdoor to the warehouse. He pushed it open. His heart pounding heavily against his ribcage, Sam called out his brother’s name.

 

 

“Sam?”

At the familiar sound, Sam felt a wave of relief flood through his body. Dean’s voice was soft, but it was there, which meant that he was alive and kicking. Right now, nothing else mattered.

“Where are you?”

“Over here!”

It took Sam less than thirty seconds to find his brother, who was strung up against a wall. His chest was bare, and he was covered in filth and blood. _God, so much blood_. Sam could see the remains of his gray shirt and his navy-blue jacket on the floor. Apparently, they had been ripped off and torn to shreds.

“What have you gotten yourself into this time? Another damn deal?” Sam untied him, doing his best not to sound frantic, but his words came out an octave higher than he meant.

“I knew you’d come after me. You never do as you’re told, do you?” Sam wasn’t fooled by the nonchalance in Dean’s voice, but he played along.

“Guess not. Can you stand?”

“I could twenty minutes ago.” Dean pushed Sam’s hand away none too gently. When he tried to make a move, his cocky grin turned into a grimace distorted with pain. “Son of a bitch!” He inhaled sharply. Sam grabbed his arm and put it around his shoulder.

“Lean on me and breathe into the pain.”

“Easy for you to say, Florence.” Dean smirked. “I gotta say, it took you long enough to get here. To be honest, I expected you to show up a little earlier. It’s not like you to be late. Had to comb your hair, or what?”

It wasn’t meant as an accusation. He was still aiming for a casual, teasing tone to make the situation easier for both of them. Sam knew, and yet Dean had struck a nerve. Sam averted his eyes, fighting the lump in his throat. _I was too slow. If I’d been faster, I could’ve prevented all of this._

“Very funny. Let’s get you to the Impala,” he said, praying his voice didn’t betray him.

 

Making their way to the car took ages and was harder than he had imagined. With every small step, Dean let out a wheezing sound that made Sam fear he might be bleeding internally. At the sight of his Baby, however, he seemed to forget his pain, his ashen face lighting up for a brief moment.

“Hey sweetheart, did you miss me?” He touched the Impala, turned around, then leaned his back against it, and closed his eyes.

He was out even before his knees buckled. If it hadn’t been for his little brother’s reflexes, he would have fallen to the ground. But Sam caught him, and slapped his face, practically shouting his name until Dean’s eyes shot open again.

“You alright, Sammy?”

Sam couldn’t believe it. Here Dean was, about as fucked up as a man could be—hell, Sam couldn’t even tell how many of his brother’s injuries were serious—and all he had on his mind was his little brother. The same broken record playing over on and over again. Watch out for Sammy. An endless nightmare.

“Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old. It’s Sam, okay?” It was partly an automatic response, partly an attempt to conceal how helpless he felt. He cleared his throat. “I’m driving.”

“I’m fine,” Dean retorted weakly. “Give me the keys.”

 _You passed out, you prick!_ Sam screamed in his mind. “You’re not fine, Dean,” he stated, and astonishingly managed to keep calm. “We’re not having this discussion. You need to rest, and I need to clean your wounds at the motel. Period.”

Dean must have been taken aback by Sam’s harsh tone, or simply too exhausted, either way, he slumped into the Impala’s passenger seat without one more word of protest. He even took the blanket that Sam handed him. They didn’t talk, and Sam didn’t push.

 

“Michael Bublé? Dude, change the station.”

Sam, who had been under the impression that his brother had fallen asleep, took this as a good sign. If Dean complained, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? This made Sam so happy that he grinned. He couldn’t resist. “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. Your words, remember?”

After a while, Sam couldn’t ignore the nagging sensation in his stomach anymore. He threw a sideways glance at Dean. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“What question?”

“You made a deal, didn’t you?”

“What? No.”

“Cut the crap, Dean. Don’t lie to me again.”

“I didn’t, okay? I went to the warehouse to get some information.”

“About what?”

Dean looked out of the window. “I wanted to know where Alastair was.”

Sam tensed. He was clenching the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. “Why?”

“I—” A wet cough rippled through Dean’s body, making Sam almost lose control over the car. Dean, to no one’s surprise, was determined to ignore his condition.

“Geez, Sam!” Another cough sounding as if his lungs were being torn apart. “Are you—trying to—get to get us—both killed?!”

“That’s it, Dean. I’m getting you to a hospital.”

“No hospital.” Between hacked gasps for air at the raspy sound of which Sam flinched, Dean somehow mustered a firm voice. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?”

“Who said anything about dying?”

“Exactly. The motel—is less than—four—miles away.”

Sam clenched his jaw, but he chose not to argue. There was no point. “Fine,” he growled. Listening to Dean’s rapid breathing, he was getting more and more concerned with every passing second. He had never been happier at the sight of a flickering motel sign.

 

After Sam had accompanied (or rather, dragged and carried) Dean to the bed, his brother reluctantly swallowed every painkiller Sam could find, but he wasn’t an easy patient. He cussed a lot, and snapped at his little brother for offering help with his jeans and putting on a shirt. Eventually, he was left with no other choice than to accept, since he didn’t have the strength to do it himself.

Looking at Dean’s leg, Sam resisted the urge to gag. A piece of his brother’s thighbone stood out, and the flesh around it was a dark red mixed with the sickening yellowish color of pus.

“It’s time you told me what happened,” Sam said, tying Dean’s belt around his leg.

Dean hissed. “Really? You wanna do this now?”

Sam was aware that his timing was as bad as it could be, but he had to know. He locked eyes with Dean, who sat in a half upright position, his head resting against a pillow. His face was grayer than ever, and a thin sheen of sweat had formed on his cold skin. When Sam bandaged his leg, he winced.

“Well, did you get a lead on Alastair?”

“I didn’t. Son of a—bitch showed up himself—though, and—decided to—have some fun. So, it didn’t—go—as I planned.” Dean’s voice was pure gravel, his words violently interrupted by coughs.

“What do you mean?”

The older Winchester looked the other way when he spoke, his voice no more than a whisper. “I wanted to kill him.”

“So, when you’d written that you wanted to end it all, you didn’t mean the Apocalypse. What the hell were you thinking?!”

“I feel like a truck ran me over; I’m tired.” God, he was so done. He really needed to sleep ...

“No Dean, you can’t go to sleep right now!” Panic rose in Sam’s chest. “Dean!” He grabbed him by his shirt and shook him. His brother was two seconds away from going into shock.

“Right here,” Dean slurred. “You don’t get it. You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don’t.”

He moved his head into Sam’s direction. When he spoke, his voice was sandpaper. “Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero?”

Tears were glistening in his eyes. “I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of this job, this life, this weight on my shoulders, man.”

“It’s our life. You said it yourself. Saving people, hunting things. The family business. But you don’t have to do this on your own. You carry all kinds of crap you don’t have to, Dean.”

“Leave it, Sam. The truth is, I’m past saving.”

“Do you really mean that? I mean, how can you care so little about yourself?” Sam yelled. “Have you got that low of an opinion of yourself? Are you that screwed in the head?!”

“Can the self-help bullshit. I’ve been to hell.”

“Yeah, but you’re a good person. I know you.”

“Well, in that case you should be able to see that I am 90 percent crap.” Dean’s green eyes darkened. “At least one of us got out for some time.”

“Until you showed up at my doorstep, yeah.” The minute he said it, guilt rushed through Sam. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” Dean’s voice was bitter. “I just wish—it didn’t—have to—be like—that.” He let out another cough.

“Like what?”

“I’ve cheated—death more than—once. I’m not even supposed to be here. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I—I—It’s like my life could mean something.”

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“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” Sam realized, his voice heavy. “Your life does mean something, Dean! You’re a good person, but you can’t go on like this. Let me help you. You’re on edge, you’re erratic—except for when you’re hunting, because then you’re downright scary.”

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“What are you talking about? I’m a joy to be around.”

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Typical. Dean never let his guard down for long. Hiding behind that devil-may-care attitude and funny comments was easier after all. “Drop the act. Talk to me. Tell me how you feel, what hell was like for you.”

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“It—wasn’t a—walk—in—the park. Hell was like … hell.”

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“For God’s sake, give me a break!”

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“I’d love to—Sammy—but—I don’t—feel—so—good.” His body jerked under another coughing fit. To Sam’s horror, blood was dripping down his chin this time. He did have internal bleeding. Great. _We can’t catch a break. Winchester luck._

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“My chest is on fire. Sam I can’t breathe. Help me. Help me!” Dean’s face quickly turned from white to blueish. _Oh god oh god oh god oh god._

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“Dean! Dean, it’s alright… it’s alright. I’m here, I’m here.”

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He didn’t let Dean out of sight while he was dialing with trembling fingers. “911, what’s the nature of your emergency?”

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Sam knew he was being unfair, but he felt like the paramedics must have stopped for a cup of coffee on their way. When the ambulance arrived, Dean was going into cardiac arrest. The paramedics managed to get him into an unsteady sinus rhythm again and inserted a chest tube after clearing his airways. They threw around all sorts of medical terms that Sam, seeing the world through a tear-stained veil, didn’t remember, but “critical condition” was branded into his mind. So was the image of his brother flatlining right in front of him.

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The ER wasn’t busy at this time of night, but Sam didn’t pay attention to these details, of course. His attention was with his brother, his words were a never-ending pleading litany of _I’m here, you’ll be alright, I won’t leave you, hang in there._

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“Dean Henderson, male, 30 years old, internal bleeding, pneumothorax, several cracked ribs, comminuted femoral fracture. Elevated heart rate at 110 BPM. Slow reaction to light, pupils dilated, otherwise unresponsive.”

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“Get him to the operation room immediately.” A gray-haired doctor turned to Sam, who was running his fingers through his hair. “I’m Dr. Whittaker. Mr. Henderson, we have to take it from here. Your brother requires emergency surgery. Why don’t you fill in the forms and wait in the hallway?”

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“Emergency surgery.” Sam gulped. “Can I stay with him?” He already knew the answer but he asked anyway. The forms. As if they were of any importance.

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Dr. Whittaker’s eyes were full of sympathy. “You can’t, I’m sorry. You need to let us take care of your brother now. He’s in good hands. We’ll let you know about any changes.”

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Sam nodded curtly, biting back tears. He sat on a chair in the hallway, staring at the Emergency Room sign until his eyes started burning.

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“Mr. Henderson?” He jumped at the feeling of a stranger’s hand on his shoulder.

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“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” A young nurse smiled at him. Her name tag revealed that she was called Lydia.

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“It’s alright. I must’ve dozed off I guess.” He looked at his watch. 1:34 a. m. “How’s Dean?”

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“Your brother is out of surgery and has been transferred to the ICU. His vitals are stable for now but we have to keep him under close supervision since he’s developed a fever because his leg is infected. He’s sleeping and might not be awake for a while.”

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“He’ll pull through, won’t he?” Sam asked, hoping he didn’t sound as anxious as he felt.

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“I can’t say for sure,” she confessed cautiously. “We’re doing everything in our power but he’s not out of the woods yet. We’ll have to see in the morning. I’ll take you to him, Mr. Henderson.”

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“Thank you, Lydia.” He held out his hand. “Call me Sam.”

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“Alright Sam, follow me.”

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Sam hated hospitals. They all smelled the same, this odd combination of disinfectants and coffee, and he always got lost in the maze of endless corridors. Somehow, Lydia’s company made it easier.

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When they stopped in front of Dean’s room, she gave him blue scrubs and an encouraging smile. “Holler if you need anything.”

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“Thanks.”

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It took Sam all the strength he could muster to return her smile, and he was sure to have failed miserably. When he pushed the door handle, he felt the pressure on his heart increase, as though a fist was crushing it.

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The sounds of the respiratory machine were so loud and unnatural that they only added to Sam’s distress. Dean was always on the move; even in his sleep he was never really relaxed, permanently on alert. The person in the bed, however, looked nothing like his brother. He lay there motionless, too still, and didn’t stir when Sam gently took his hand. It was all too familiar, and yet it couldn’t feel more surreal.

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“Come on Dean. You need to fight.” Sam squeezed his hand. It was too hot. “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you! Do you hear me?”

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His heart rate increased when he felt Dean move. “Dean?”

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“Dad?” His voice was hoarse and no more than a whisper. Dean’s eyes were open, but they seemed to look right through Sam. “I don’t wanna do this anymore. Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?”

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His words tore Sam apart. “Dean, it’s me, Sam,” he said softly, crying through his words.

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“Sammy? Why did you have to leave? Why did you run off to Stanford?” Each word seemed to cost him a tremendous amount of effort. “You and me and dad … I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.” Dean’s eyes closed.

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“Dean, no… no,” Sam stammered. “Dad’s dead. Has been for a long time. You know that.”

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Dean didn’t seem to hear him. His eyelids were fluttering. “Watch out for the Yellow-Eyed Demon, Sammy. That bastard’s here. No, Dad, no. Sam!”

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Dean seized, and let out a piercing cry of agony that went through every fiber of Sam’s body. “I’m here, Dean.” He felt Dean’s heat radiate from his body. He threw a concerned glance at the monitor. 103.4. Damn. He called for the nurse.

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“Sammy make it stop. It’s so hot. So hot. No, Alastair. Leave me alone!”

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_Alastair grinned his scornful grin. “Dean, Dean, Dean,” he said in his nasal voice. “What were you thinking, looking for me? Did you honestly think you could kill me?” He punched him hard, and Dean heard his ribs crack._

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_“Go to hell,” he spat._

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_Alastair chuckled. “Oh, I will. But I will take you with me. I’ll send you right back into the pit. That’s where you belong after all, considering that you were my best student. Such a fast learner, and so … creative.”_

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_Alastair put his hands around his leg, and a searing, white-hot pain shot through his body. Dean screamed._

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_“You liked it, didn’t you? Yeah Dean, I know that you enjoyed torturing all those poor souls back down there. Did you share your dirty little secret with that brother of yours? Or are you afraid that he might abandon you if he knows? See you for the scum that you are?”_

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_“You must have pretty big self-esteem issues to drag Sammy into this. Leave my brother out of this. This is between you and me.”_

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_“_ _Oh,_ _you can_ _smirk_ _and_ _joke_ _and lie_ _to_ _your brother_ , _lie_ _to_ _yourself_ , _but not_ _to_ _me. I can see right through you. Your problem, mate, is that nobody hates you more than you do. You’re nothing, Dean. Well, there’s one thing you’re good at, apart from killing and maiming. You know what that is? Following your dad’s orders.”_

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_“Now you’re bringing up Dad? Well, that’s just low, even for you.”_

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_Alastair twisted his knife into the open wound in Dean’s leg, causing him to scream again. “A good soldier and nothing else._ _Daddy’s blunt little instrument,” he whispered into Dean’s ear. “That’s what you are. You can still hear your dad’s voice in your head, can’t you? Clear as bell._ _Maybe you’re feeling the pain right now but you can’t fool me. I know how dead you are inside; how worthless you feel. You’re numb, and you’re this close,”_ — _he marked the distance with his fingers_ — _“_ _to becoming one of the things you hunt, or more precisely, to becoming like ME.”_

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_Dean laughed, tasting coppery blood in his mouth._

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_“Laugh it off all you want, believe me, or don’t. In the end, it doesn’t matter. You can’t escape me, Dean. You’re gonna die. Not today, but eventually you’re gonna die at my hands.”_

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“SAM! It hurts too much. I wish I couldn’t feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn’t feel a damn thing. Alistair won’t stop; he just won’t.” Dean was panting heavily, and his heart skipped too many beats for Sam’s liking.

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Sam had a hard time staying calm. “I know, Dean. I know.”

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When Lydia finally arrived, he was frantic. “I don’t know what to do. My brother had a seizure, and he’s hallucinating.”

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“I’ll fetch Dr. Whittaker. I think Dean’s infection developed into pneumonia.”

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“It can sometimes happen when the immune system is weakened,” Dr. Whittaker explained, almost apologetically. “The important thing is to bring the fever down now.”

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The hours went by, and Sam had lost track of time. Every now and again Lydia came in to check Dean’s vitals and increase the dosage of Acetaminophen and anti-inflammatory drugs, but other than that, nothing happened.

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Sam buried his face in his hands. _I wish you were here, Cas._ “I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here,” he murmured. It was something Dean would have said. The thought made Sam laugh, and he didn’t realize that it developed into hysterical crying.

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“Hello Sam.” Castiel was right behind him.

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“You came.”

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“Why do you sound surprised?”

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“It’s just … you never answer to my prayers.”

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“Dean and I do share a more profound bond,” Castiel replied matter-of-factly, and obviously this was explanation enough for him. “How is he?”

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“He recognized me for a moment, but otherwise, he’s been pretty out of it. He thought I was Dad, and then he started mumbling incoherent stuff. … Alastair tortured him before I found him. I think the fever caused him to relive their encounter, I don’t know … I doubt he even knows where he is … He’s still talking and not making much sense. Can you work your angel mojo on him?” 

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“No, I’m afraid I can’t. If you had brought him here sooner, there might have been a tiny chance.” 

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The tinge of reproach in the angel’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. I know, Sam thought. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. “Who do you think you are?” he snapped. He didn’t notice that tears were streaming down his face. 

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“You know who I am. I’m an angel of the Lord.”

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In other circumstances, the puzzled look on Cas’ face would’ve made Sam laugh. “It’s sarcasm,” he explained wearily and stifled a yawn.

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“I see.” Cas tilted his head. “You look rather exhausted, Sam. If you wish to rest, I can stay with Dean.”

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“Thank you, Cas,” Sam said, and he meant it. “There’s no way I can sleep right now, but I need some air. Be right back.”

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“I’ll just wait here then.”

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Sam rushed out of the hospital. The air was crispy, but he inhaled it greedily. The coldness renewed his energy. He took his phone out and dialed Bobby’s number, nervously pacing. “Come on Bobby. Pick up.”

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“Singer,” a familiar voice barked. “Who’s the jackass that throws people outta bed in the middle of the night? This had better be good.”

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Sam skipped the formalities. “Bobby, it’s Dean. He’s sick, really sick.” He barely managed to get the words out without choking. “I, uh, I don’t know if he’s gonna make it.”

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“Calm down, Sam. Where is he?”

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“Dundy County Hospital in Stratton, Nebraska, where we wanted to work our next case.”

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“Balls! That’s about a seven-hour drive, and that’s if I don’t take a break … I’ll take the next flight. There’s one that takes about four and a half hours, I think.”

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“Cas can take you to us,” Sam offered.

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“Oh right. Didn’t think of that.”

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“I’ll ask him. See you around.”

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As much as Sam had needed a short break, he couldn’t wait to get back to Dean. When he entered the little room again, it was crowded with nurses monitoring the machines and exchanging concerned looks. Cas stood near Dean’s bed, invisible to their eyes.

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“Dean’s been in and out of it since you left,” Lydia said. “He’s called for your dad twice. Maybe you should contact him.”

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_He wanted Dad, and I wasn’t there_. Sam had difficulties to keep his voice steady, tears welling up in his eyes. _Not again_. “He, uh, he passed away a while ago.”

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“Sam, I’m so sorry.”

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“It’s okay, you couldn’t know. I called our uncle, he’s the closest to a father we got since Dad died. He’s gonna come.”

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“Well, he needs his family now. Apart from giving him morphine and adjusting the medicine to reduce his fever, all we can do is have faith. Your brother’s strong, he seems like a fighter. His fever has already gone down a bit. It’s 102.7 now.” She glanced at Sam. “No offense, but you look horrific. Sleep deprivation is not something to be taken lightly, you know. Go home, get some rest.”

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Go home _._ She was so clueless. _Dean is my home._ “I don’t mean to cause trouble, but I can’t leave him. He needs me. Can I sleep here?”

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“I totally saw this one coming,” she sighed. “Alright, I’ll make an exception for you because I like you, Sam.” She blinked at him. “There’s something about you; I can’t quite put my finger on it. Anyway, you can sleep on the vacant bed next to Dean’s.”

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All Sam could think of was how Dean would react. He’d probably say something like, “Dude, she’s totally hitting on you. Talk to her. You might get laid.”

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Sam turned to Cas. “Bobby would like to pay us a visit, so I was wondering if you could bring him here as soon as the nurses have left the room.”

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“Of course,” Cas replied earnestly.

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As expected, Sam didn’t get much sleep, but he was glad to wake up to the sound of Bobby’s gruff voice. He was talking to a nurse. Sam hugged him. “Thanks for coming, Bobby.”

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“Don’t mention it, son.” If Sam didn’t know the old man better, he’d think he was a little embarrassed. “You know what I always say. Family don’t end with blood.”

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“Sammy?”

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Sam was beside his brother’s bed in no time. “Dean!”

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Dean opened his eyes. “What’s gotten into you? Acting all cheerful,” he said sleepily. “That’s a new one.”

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“It’s just good to see you awake,” he smiled. “How are you feeling?”

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“Peachy. I could use some pie though. Love me some pie.”

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A wave of affection went through Sam. Dean was probably doing this for his sake, which only made Sam love him more.

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“Jerk.”– “Bitch.”

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Sam laughed, and Dean responded to it with his trademark grin. Anything but naïve, Sam knew perfectly well that his brother was far from alright. There was a long road to recovery ahead; right now, however, it wasn’t important. What mattered was that Dean acted like, well, Dean again.

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Bobby rolled his eyes. “Idjits.”

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**THE END**

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**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think. :) Thank you. *shares virtual cookies*


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